Walking Away
by Black Forests
Summary: Tag to "Swan Song". He would do anything for Dean, even if it meant walking away. Dark themes.


**Walking Away**

Disclaimer: Eric Kripke owns it all. Tribute to my all-time favorite angst drama.  
Summary: Tag to "Swan Song". He would do anything for Dean, even if it meant walking away.  
Warning: Dark themes. Never-ending angst. This story definitely earns its rating.

* * *

Since young, Sam knew that he was different. The incessant travelling routines and isolation made him feel alienated, but nothing can be compared to how his father treated him. He made sure that Sam knew how much he blamed him for his mother's death, and how much he loathed him. He often avoided coming into contact with his younger son, choosing to let Dean "deal with him" as he mumbled quite frequently. Sam was smart, and this fact did nothing to deter him from thinking that although he probably did not deserve this treatment, he knew his father thought otherwise.

Dean became his safe haven, his beloved father and treasured brother all rolled into one. His older brother hadn't known much about how their father treated Sam, mostly because Sam avoided their father as much as their father avoided him. Sam, on the other hand, had always seen their father blatantly showing care and concern towards Dean, without sparing much thought to his other son. He often watched, with weary eyes, at perfect, loving family scenes, which he knew he would never be a part of.

One day, Sam had no idea when, he eventually believed that he deserved this treatment because he was alive and his mother wasn't. The idea of his father never loving him had stung like salt in an open wound, but it gradually tuned down to a constant dull ache.

He knew he had Dean, and nothing else mattered.

* * *

Sam loved to read. Ever since after being informed of paranormal activities and that their family business was hunting at age eight, he had marveled at the sight of strange incantations from old, dusty books and scrapes of parchment.

A year ago, his teacher had given him an advice that he couldn't seem to disregard. He knew that he had to carry on the family business with Dean and their father, because it was the only tie that bound them together like a family. However, he had always wondered at how normal families would be like. He blinked, and with a strange feeling in his chest, he came to the conclusion that he had always yearned for a normal life. Dean was the only person that made him feel loved, feel normal, and yet it was a common occurrence of late that he would rather hang out with his friends and girls. Sam felt dejected and lost but he would rather Dean be happy with his social circle and Sam decided to stick to his books. They were his escapes and his safe haven. They would never replace Dean but they came close as a temporary substitution. Temporary, Sam hoped.

As he sat cross-legged and squinted at the baffling text on the floor, he noticed the looming silhouette of his father abruptly. He flinched instinctively and stood up to face the stern face of his father. He knew intellectually that his father wasn't telepathic, but it did not stop him from feeling guilty over the fact that he wanted a normal life. The admission that Dean made him feel loved and cared for did not help either.

His father placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and Sam froze. His father seldom raised a hand towards him, barring a few incidents when Dean was away and his father got himself heavily drunk. Sometimes he got away with a slap or two when his father was sober and perhaps, a few smacks on the back of his head even when Dean was present. Sam analyzed his father's behavior regularly and he knew rationally that his father would rather not touch him at all. Sometimes, though, Sam would prefer his father knock him around, rather than ignore his presence completely. This calm conduct strayed from his usual behavior and Sam became oddly fascinated with this new development. He remained silent, examining the floor instead, until his father decided to address him directly.

"Sam, it's time you pull your weight in this family," his father started quietly, not removing his hand just yet. Sam barely concealed his curiosity as he lifted up his head to face his father openly. Sam had hunted with his family for a while since and he decided that maybe his father was going to give him some of the more important jobs he often shared with Dean. He gave his father a questioning glance, still holding his tongue as his father withheld permission for him to speak. His father fidgeted, as he figured out what he wanted to say. "We need cash… And we can't run credit card scams all the time…"

His excitement dimmed and slowly fizzled out like a dying flame. He processed what his father had meant by "pull your weight" with his genius-level IQ numbly and despair began to consume him whole. He was in shock. He refused to believe that his father would even subject him to such a predicament. He swallowed in a feeble attempt to regain his composure, clearing his dry throat and stammered, "Y-you can't… Y-you can't do this."

The older Winchester's face visibly darkened as his eyes briefly betrayed his fury and revulsion. "You can't expect Dean and I to do everything now, would you? I'm barely keeping this family together with the money we have." His hold on Sam's shoulder tightened viciously and Sam winced in response. "You have to do this. You have to because I'm telling you to."

Sam shook his head to deny his father's callous words and tried to free himself from the firm grip frantically. His father withdrew his hand suddenly and Sam nearly fell back. Instead, the hand came crashing into his left cheek with such a force that it sent Sam tumbling into the hard corner of the bed. The bed shook, but withstood Sam's light weight as the corner hit Sam in his side that made him groan in agony. His father nodded, as if in agreement with something he said in his head. "You wouldn't want Dean to do all the work now, would you? He will work so hard until he's completely exhausted."

Sam froze as his father continued mentioning Dean's name and John Winchester knew he was on the right track. He nodded even vigorously then and persisted spitefully, "You would do anything for your brother." It was more of a statement than a question. Sam blinked back unwanted tears, knowing that his father had won this time round. He nodded gradually, whispering a soft, painful, but determined, "Yes."

John drew back in victory and stared at Sam as if admiring his handiwork. Sam gasped in pain and made himself stand up. His reading and research materials were in disarray as they were completely strewn across the floor. His father had made his point and he nodded, and turned to walk away. "Good. You will start work tomorrow."

* * *

It was a really rough day at work and Sam came back home with a heavy heart. As he opened the door, he could hear his father's harsh tone reprimanding Dean. He was immediately greeted with the sight of his father sitting by Dean's side, with the Colt 1911 and other various firearms placed on the table. With simple deduction skills and his past experiences, he assumed that Dean was assigned to a vigorous firearm-assembling exercise. It was obvious that Dean was failing miserably because of the blindfold he was wearing.

"Hey, Sammy, look! Dad is torturing me!" Dean had taken off his blindfold and protested as he heard his younger brother's entrance. His brother never failed to cheer him up even after an awful day. Sam gave him a small smile, throwing his bag on his motel bed, and looked to his father discreetly, seeking permission to join in the exercise. His father's glare proved to him that it was evidently a "family-only" exercise and Sam wasn't allowed to join. Without skipping a beat, Sam answered with years of practice, "I'm glad I don't have to join in. I have tons of homework." He walked away towards the bathroom because if he stayed any longer, Dean would have noticed the hurt in his eyes. Even when he was still in the vicinity, Dean had meant for him to hear what he said next, "Little bastard thinks he's too good for hunting."

Sam paused at the door, holding back tears. Sam shook his head firmly and convinced himself that Dean didn't know the truth and was only saying that out of spite. He chose not to respond and merely entered the bathroom, proceeding to take off his clothes.

The stained mirror reflected a stranger back at him. He looked like an innocent, good-looking school boy who knew nothing but soccer and homework and possibly, girls. He was short for his age, but he looked just a little younger than the rest of his classmates in some of his advanced classes. Sam knew he was no innocent school boy. His eyes revealed a deep sense of maturity no one his age should have. He was good at lying. He was good at acting. He could be anyone or anything someone wanted him to be.

"_I can be whatever you want me to be," his reflection grinned. _

Sam nearly smashed the mirror in defiance but settled almost cowardly at hitting the counter instead. "I don't want it," Sam whispered brokenly. He made his way to the bathtub dazedly, climbed in, turned on the shower and huddled in a corner. His mind wandered back to the family scene he had observed as an outsider previously and his heart groped blindly for a support that was absent. His brother had complained outwardly but Sam wanted nothing more than to take his place. Jealousy bloomed in his chest as tears began to stream down his cheeks.

"Dad, stop hitting my head!" Dean's voice traveled easily, but there was mirth in his voice. Their father laughed as a good-natured response, and Sam could almost imagine bitterly as their father patted Dean's shoulder in encouragement, or giving him a few half-hearted jabs in the ribs in amusement.

Sam closed his eyes as a futile attempt to block out the racket outside. Unexpectedly, a malicious voice breathed into his ear, _"You slut."_ Sam jumped in fear, almost slipping in the bathtub as he spun wildly, looking for the invisible enemy. His heart hammered against his chest and he breathed deeply, trying to convince himself that no one was there. He hugged his legs that were covered with bruises, placing his head between his knees gently. Tears mixing with the water flowed down his face and his dull eyes continued staring into nothing.

* * *

As the cheap alarm clock rang, Sam woke up with dread in his gut. It became almost a physical pain to wake up every morning and to live a day as Sam Winchester. His brother and father had been away more frequently as Sam was left behind with their father explaining eloquently, "He needs to study and keep up the good work, unlike you, Dean." It was more of a "If you don't bring back at least a couple hundred bucks, you can just fucking starve yourself and everyone else in this family." Sam loved Dean very much, but his lack of presence made it hard to focus on any of the good moments in his life anymore. He had studied hard to break away from the memories of his after-school job and almost everything else in his life. He came to a profound realization that his life would never amount to anything and he was simply tired.

It wasn't worth it anymore. It wasn't worth trying to win his father's love and trying to find his place in the family. He found his getaways with books more and more alluring than the actual life he was leading outside of the motel room. The girls, real school girls, he sometimes hooked up with to feel some normalcy in his life would eventually leave him as they found him too _weird. _The chemistry was always so obviously one-sided (felt by the girls) that almost the whole school thought he was gay. The desperation he had a year into when he first started his "job" and life in particular had forced him to turn to drugs for a short period of time. His addiction (he wasn't really addicted, he had convinced himself) became more and more noticeable that he stopped completely, knowing it was the smart thing to do. It would be unwise for him to throw away his brother's seemingly unconditional love as well.

His desperation had waned into monotony and at that very moment, he merely felt very, very tired. He started to weigh the pros and cons of his current situation mechanically. He wouldn't try to kill himself because he owed his mother that much. He wasn't going to give up this life that a woman he never knew had seemingly died for. He also loved his brother too much to put him through any kind of pain. An idea began to form in his head as he stared at the scholarship papers that stuck stubbornly out of his bag.

He could break away from this life and find his breathing space. He could find a more valid reason to live for. He could walk away, leaving his brother with their father, knowing that he would be in good hands. Maybe, just maybe, he could find that the world wasn't that miserable after all.

* * *

When Sam turned twenty, his life seemed almost perfect. He was in his second year in Stanford, his grades remained excellent and everyone seemed to love him as the friend he portrayed. Jessica was an absolute delight in his life. It was like as the world was dark all around him and he was blindly searching for something he could hold on to, Jessica lit up the place as she walked towards him. Their relationship was about the deep empathy that Jessica had in her that Sam simply adored. There was nothing sexual about the relationship that Sam would have recoiled from. There was lust, definitely, from two horny college kids, but there was a rapport that went just beyond that.

It was so innocent and enjoyable that Sam began to believe his life couldn't be happier, aside from the fact that his brother wasn't a part of his life then.

Jessica had _tried_. She would always try to go further than kisses and the occasional make-out sessions that Sam would initiate reluctantly, as if he _owed _her. Whenever Jessica reached for his belt and wanted _more_, Sam would immediately freak out and find a reason to back away from his girlfriend. They would even spend days away from each other as Sam claimed to need some "breathing space" and Jessica had understandingly complied, despite never being able to understand why.

With Sam's past (that wasn't so far from the present), he shunned away from anything to do with sex while in Stanford. He put up such a strong pretense, that he had nearly forgotten how it was like back in the days when he was simply a boy at the corner of the street, always trying to reach out for some kindness, but met darkness and agony instead.

It was some time after he joined Stanford that he found God. He came to peace with God, despite being put through tough and painful trials that he would gladly do without. He was certain that God wouldn't give him more than he could handle. He wasn't any sort of altar boy, but sometimes, it was his faith that kept his nightmares at bay and gave him a quiet strength to move on. He refused to trust the inner voice that told him that he was simply looking for someone else to blame.

He turned twenty-one and their relationship began to look bleak. Sam wasn't ready to give what Jessica wants, despite her continued assurances that they could just cuddle together and talk. The three years he had spent on the "job" he was pretty sure he had been _safe_, but one never knew for sure. He got himself tested a few months back and when he had gotten the results and he was _negative_, he was utterly relieved to the point that he would have framed those papers. He tore them up and disposed of them anyway.

It was Jessica's birthday and Sam decided not to be just the receiving end of this treasured relationship. He wanted to reciprocate Jessica's love. He knew he hated it, but he could endure any kind of suffering to give what Jessica wanted. He could do it.

Sam was technically a virgin in this form of love-making and he was almost upset when Jessica informed him that he was her first. He felt like he was tainting her in some twisted manner. It was almost ironic. That night, Jessica was blown away by Sam's skillful hands. The skills he had learned for survival in a cold, brutal way. As she was basking in the afterglow of birthday love-making, Sam laid back into the pillows, staring at the ceiling. He pulled the covers over his body, knees curling up in a fetal position. His back was facing Jessica and he tried hard not to cry.

* * *

After Jessica's death, Sam desperately fumbled around for any kind of anchor and it just happened to be Dean. Dean was his everything before his life in Stanford. Jessica became the second best substitution that he needed urgently. Sam fell apart, knowing that he could have prevented her death with the nightmares he had of her death.

He was good at acting, though. Dean only saw through that little crack in his façade Sam had allowed him to. Needless to say, his psyche fell back into the routine of nightmare-viewing. Some nights, he still had nightmares of Jessica's death, but he repeatedly had some mild ones depicting his father yelling at him to horrific ones having his father rape him. Some nights, he merely had his memories as company as they played over and over in his nightmares like a broken record.

They started to hunt together and it was like the old times, minus his father, school and the god awful job he had. He could survive the death of his girlfriend, but he would probably come apart literally if anything had happened to Dean.

It was months into their hunting habit that they started running into financial problems. Both of them didn't have the time or effort to work with their unpredictable schedule. Sam's savings soon dried up and Dean's pool hustling tricks could only work so much. Credit card scams were difficult as the law enforcement would look into them soon enough. Dean started to neglect his health, opting to use his share of food money to maintain their weapons, his beloved car and sometimes even fork out some money to pay for Sam's healthy food. The act was so easily performed by a person who had sacrificed enough to make it work, but Sam saw it through eventually. He was horrified by this fact, but he knew he had to do something, _anything_, because he would never want to lose his brother.

He got desperate when he couldn't find any jobs that could be squeezed into his schedule and Sam refused to think that "the job" was the only thing he could fall back on. Unfortunately, it was, and the skills he had sworn never to use again (although he did, for Jessica) had managed to feed the both of them during the times they ran out of cash. He walked in and out of so many motel rooms that he sometimes forgot the room wasn't his and he would wake up, appalled. He thought maybe, one day, Dean would soon enough discover his dirty little secret. The one that made Sam feel so cheap, used and pathetic that he almost thought he really was that way. Maybe one day, Dean would _know_ and take off, finally abandoning his sickening body in the motel room they were living in, where he probably fit right in.

Sometimes, during times when he was with a client, he got so scared of the idea that Dean would abandon him that he would remove the body that clung to him, and dashed to the bathroom, sick with fear and horror. He would throw up everything in his stomach that he had worked so hard to fill, until nothing but bile came up. He would sit on the tiled floor, willing for tears to come but they never did. He just stared and stared at the familiar, stained mirror with the reflection of a stranger staring back at him until he got so tired he decided to walk away.

* * *

The period of time when Dean was in hell, Sam had decided he would do _anything _to rescue Dean. His brother didn't deserve a place in hell because of him. His mind argued that Dean was the one who made the deal with the crossroad demon, but it was because of _him _that Dean was in hell. He would do anything to change that fact.

His dealings with Ruby had brought up the usefulness of his skills again. Ruby wanted to help him, but he needed to know that she would stay loyal to him, like a puppy dog. She liked it rough and Sam was happy to oblige, because it meant he wouldn't have to hold back (like he did with Jessica) the frustration, pain and disgust. He was so thoroughly repulsed by his own body that he did nothing to maintain it, besides the usual, in order to get by to save his brother. Soon enough, he didn't care about being in any kind of pain, because it meant that he was suffering in a way too and it would remind him of his duty to his brother.

He often convinced himself that drinking Ruby's blood was a short-term thing that he could quickly kick off after getting his brother back. He knew he wasn't kidding anyone, especially with that drug addiction he had in the past. He could fool himself for some time that he was the one with the power, the one who wasn't so used, pathetic and filthy that he had needed an outlet for his rage. He could almost see the smirk and knowing glance on Ruby's face when he sucked at the open wound on Ruby's arm, utterly desperate, disgusted and in despair.

When Dean came back, he couldn't stop anymore. Demon's blood made him feel so powerful, so alive, that he could almost forget the fact that he wasn't. He was just a worthless freak with a drug abuse problem and with such a warped concept of love that he knew some day someone would dig hard enough and find all his dirty little secrets.

Someday, Dean would find out and all his thick, tall walls he built would come crumbling down as his beloved brother voiced his repugnance. However, before the arrival of this particular dark day, Sam would claim all the power, energy and pseudo happiness from this blood and pretend everything was okay. Sometimes, after consuming the blood, he would experience fleeting dream-like scenes that showed Sam everything he wanted. His brother, his father, his mother, with a stupid fucking dog in a house with a fucking white picket fence. Sometimes they were so fake and so ludicrous that all Sam wanted was his brother to be there, consoling him, telling him everything was okay like when he was young. It was almost asking for the impossible though, because with Dean back from hell, they were both distant and when they were in contact, they often fought.

Sometimes, he wished for God to help him, to save him and put his ass on the road to salvation. Sam thought God probably didn't hear his desperate prayers because he was perpetually stuck in a dark, deep hole that he could never climb out of. He wondered if the hell Dean went to was like this.

* * *

Dean saw Sam's version of heaven and Sam could tell that he was really angry, as if he was going to fly into a rage at any moment. Sam could only stare blankly as Dean slowly discarded the amulet that Sam had given him on Christmas day when he was eight. He couldn't even start to describe how he felt at that moment, as he swallowed and his eyes remained dry as if they already saw enough pain, horror and disgust to feel nothing already.

Dean's eyes reflected betrayal, pain and a deep kind of sorrow. They were also there when Dean found out about Sam's blood addiction. The sight of those accusing eyes made Sam's heart almost physically clench in excruciating pain. He had sworn that he would strive never to see those eyes again by being the good younger brother that anyone can trust. He managed to control his addiction in an effort to please Dean. He never cared about himself. He only wanted Dean to care about him again.

By watching Dean throw away that amulet that could signify the deep bond between the both of them, it was like watching Dean throw him back into the deep, dark hole he had struggled to climb out of. He betrayed Dean by living in a heaven that he thought would be the least ridiculous (without the whole fucking family there) and at least believable (like hell he would believe that John Winchester had ever loved him, or ever would). Dean betrayed Sam by abandoning him out in the cold. But Sam already knew he deserved it.

He picked up the amulet from the waste paper basket and walked towards the Impala. He knew his brother would wait for him, but not really _wait for him_ anymore. Dean had given up on their relationship and Sam thought that perhaps he should, too, since he never deserved it. But he held on to the amulet in his fist, tightly, and wished that he would never had believed in God in the first place. It was faith that made him think he could ever be part of something, that he could ever be loved without being judged for his past mistakes. It was faith that made him want to think his relationship with Dean was never broken.

But he knew the truth now—that God abandoned him, like Dean did. All those supposed unconditional love could never work with Lucifer's vessel. He contemplated on this fact, closed his eyes, and accepted it. Who knew that God would give someone so much that he couldn't handle life anymore? Maybe someday, hopefully, Sam would sleep, sleep in such a peaceful, with a dream free of pain and darkness that he could never wake up again.

* * *

As Sam remained in the shadows and viewed the happy family in the dining corner, he nodded to himself, grim, but oddly pleased. He knew that Dean deserved the happiness that he could get, with a family, a house and that fucking white picket fence. Sam could never get what he wanted or dreamed of, but Dean could. He would never dream of ever stealing it from Dean by simply appearing before him. He knew that Dean would want to resume their hunting habit out of obligation and as an occupational hazard.

The hell he had experienced was absolute hell. It was the worst event he had ever experienced. Sam thought that with so many horrible experiences under his belt, pun intended, there would be nothing left to break him. Hell had earned its name and Sam decided that his dark, deep hole was nothing compared to it. Dean had spent forty fucking years in it and Sam was crying like a baby for that fleeting period of time he was in it. The whole time he could only think of Dean, Dean and Dean. He was the reason Sam _wanted _to live. He knew the obsession was really unhealthy, but really, he thought he was at least entitled to having some issues. Sam often wanted to just lie somewhere in a corner and sleep and never wake up in hell or heaven or whatever universe that would be out there.

Sam could never ask so much of Dean, to give up this life he had wanted so badly. Sam was already a lost cause but there was still hope for his brother. He wished nothing more than to reassure his brother that he was alive, and Sam would snivel by his feet, apologizing for being such a pathetic freak, begging his brother for forgiveness for all his past mistakes. He wanted nothing more than his brother hugging him, telling him that hell was over and his brother was there for him. He wished that his mother had never died and they were one big, happy fucking family. He wished God hadn't abandoned them in such a dark time. He wished that he had never existed, and maybe the world would be such a better place. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

For once in his whole entire, wretched life, Sam smiled a smile that was actually contented and genuine. A tear made its way down his cheek and Sam reached his hand out to touch the salty track. Dean was his light and would always be. Sam loved Dean more than anyone else and it was the right thing to do to walk away.

Sam wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

End.


End file.
